


about kneeling

by Ashling



Category: Sam Wyndham Series - Abir Mukherjee
Genre: Desk Sex, Dream Sex, I'll be real with you I have no idea at what point in canon this would take place, Kneeling, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Surendranath hopes like hell he didn't talk in his sleep.
Relationships: Surendranath "Surrender-Not" Banerjee/Sam Wyndham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	about kneeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



Sam smells earthy and tastes of salt. They're both sweating, it's a scorching Calcutta afternoon and Sam's white shirt sticks to his skin when Surendranath tries to peel it off him. He missed one button, in the middle, and they both stand there panting as Surendranath fiddles with the last button, wanting to tear it off in haste, not wanting to ruin the shirt. Sam laughs, fondly, and that's when it shatters.

"This isn't happening," Surendranath says into the crook of Sam's neck. Sam doesn't laugh like that; Sam doesn't love him like that.

"And whose fault is that?" Sam replies.

Surendranath looks at him: the new streaks of grey in his hair, the five o'clock shadow, the piercing grey eyes. It's devastating all over again, but at least Sam still has his hands on Surendranath's hips, at least Surendranath still has the taste of him in his mouth. He grabs Sam's shirt, tears off the button, and brings him closer, because he can. He kisses Sam fiercely because he can. While he still can.

Sam's hands tighten on Surendranath's hips—he's stronger than he looks—and he lifts Surendranath onto his desk. There's a scatter and a crinkle of paperwork underneath, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Sam licks into Surendranath's mouth like he's searching for sweetness and Surendranath yields, pliable as he always is, always can afford to be, when Sam isn't real. He can't stop touching Sam, all over: cupping his cheek, running his hands over his shoulders, palming his arse and bringing him closer until Surendranath can wrap his legs round Sam's waist, pushing into him, demanding more the way he always does, always can afford to be, when Sam isn't—

And then his thoughts stutter to the rhythm of Sam's hand down his trousers. It's not the same as when Surendranath touches himself, it's not the same at all, and he grabs Sam's arms so hard it might leave bruises.

"Yeah?" Sam says in his ear, knowing and wry and warm. In dreams, Sam always knows how much Surendranath loves him. In dreams, Sam always lets him.

"Yeah," Surendranath sighs.

Sam lets go of him, and takes off his shirt, and gets on his knees. God, it's a sight. Has Surendranath ever seen him on his knees before? He can't remember. He's definitely never seen Sam on his knees with Surendranath's cock in his mouth but— _oh—_ there's a first time for everything.

It's not even about how Sam swallows him down, hot and wet and _deep_ like he's been practicing, like he's ready for Surendranath. Okay, maybe it is. Maybe it is, a little, but it's also—it's also about his shoulder, warm under Surendranath's knee, and his right forearm holding down Surendranath's hips as he bucks up into Sam's mouth, and most of all it's about Sam's left hand on Surendranath's thigh, thumb moving in slow arcs because Sam wants to make him feel good, wants to touch him, wants him. _Sam._

Surendranath wakes with Sam's name on his lips, wakes having forgotten that at one point he knew it was a dream, and he has to learn it all over again. This place is not their home, but oddly enough he's in a bed by the wall, exactly like his bed is in their home, and Sam's sitting in a chair that's across from him, exactly like there's a chair in their home across from Surendranath's bed. And Sam is sleeping too, his head on his chest, arms folded, leaning against the wall. For a second, Surendranath wants to wake him up, tell him there's enough room in the bed for both of them, but that's only the dream again.

Surendranath hopes like hell that he didn't talk in his sleep.

Later on, much later, when he's figured out that this is a hospital and he's high as a kite, when the pain begins to come back anyway, when Sam's awake and chain-smoking and Surendranath can't stand to look at him for the way his lips look around a cigarette, the nurse comes in to bring him soup and a revelation.

As usual, Surendranath gets stuttery and strange upon talking with a woman he doesn't know—he can't help it—and Sam disappears, saying something gruff, probably about needing to take a piss. When the woman's done taking Surendranath's temperature and measuring his pulse, she says, "Your friend was worried about you."

"He's a worrier." Surendranath tries to say it dismissively, but he's so pleased by this that knows his acting must be terrible.

"He couldn't remember how to say the Lord's Prayer, so he asked me."

That's not all the nurse says, but it's all that Surendranath remembers. As soon as she's gone, Sam comes back and falls asleep again, and it's nighttime, and outside near the window there's several birds that won't stop calling for each other, and the whole time, mired in pain and morphine, Surendranath can only think of one thing. He did get Sam on his knees, didn't he. Sam wouldn't do it for royalty, but he did it for Surendranath.

Even in Surendranath's dreams, he doesn't do that. Surendranath can imagine him flushed and wanting—he walked in on Sam, once—and he can even imagine Sam tender, the way he's been, once in a blue moon, with a fragile witness. In dreams, Sam can want Surendranath to the point of having sex, and Sam can want him to the point of even saying some pretty and completely unbelievable endearments. But Surendranath's subconscious never thought to make him pray.

Sam, in real life, is outdoing Sam in Surendranath's dreams by miles; Sam, in real life, cares past the point of Surendranath's power of imagination. As he closes his eyes, Surendranath knows it's likely only the morphine, but he still feels it, quiet and small and undeniable: hope.


End file.
